


Break

by fandramatics



Series: 101 Prompts Challenge [35]
Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24237367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandramatics/pseuds/fandramatics
Summary: 45. "Is this sofa strong enough for both of us?"
Relationships: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing
Series: 101 Prompts Challenge [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1503173
Comments: 4
Kudos: 68





	Break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [explodingnebulae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodingnebulae/gifts).



_ Setealém.  _

The word sat scribbled at the top of the page. Beneath it, she could barely recognize her handwriting. In her frenzy to get her thoughts on paper, she had ignored every sense of aesthetic. The need for answers greater than anything else that could be going on around her at the time.

Agatha had heard of it online the first time, the topic kept popping up time and time again - just a little Baader-Meinhof phenomenon -, she started digging in for further information. One day she rushed to her study to take notes, started doing it before she could even sit down. She paused to get books at their library, brought them with her, and soon the desk was all books, papers, and sticky notes.

That was how it began.

She sat at her desk, pencil dancing between her fingers as she studied the blank space under her latest paragraph. 

The latest paragraph she had written yesterday morning.

Nothing had come since then.

The former nun sighed, laid her face in her hands, her shoulders going down. She laid back against her chair, eyeing her project

“Writer’s block?” the Count’s voice came from behind her, she pressed her eyes and lips shut.

Agatha could almost see him lying on the sofa, watching her, a hint of a smirk in his mouth.

When she first rushed into the study, she considered locking the door, yet her urgency was so great she forgot about it. He had seen her move around their place, had frowned at her and after no explanation came, he invited himself into the study. She didn’t answer any of his questions, didn’t bite the bait, that was when he decided to lay on the study sofa, breathing heavily, clearing his throat, shifting endlessly. Nothing worked, she remained silent, her only sounds being the scraping of her pencil against the paper.

As days passed and she left the room only for the essentials, so did he. The sofa might as well have been a bed, for he seemed completely comfortable.

“Happens to the best of us, you know,” he continued, used to her unresponsiveness, “Want to discuss the topic?”

Nothing.

“Alright then,” Dracula rose, walked out the door.

She opened her eyes, resisted the urge to check where he had gone. A glance at her notes and she sighed, stood up and made her way out of the room.

  
  


Her nose picked up on the scent of blood when he returned to the study, he paused at the door, sniffed the air, then went back to the sofa. He had fed, she had showered. She wondered which one of them had been more successful during their breaks.

Likely him.

Agatha was glad she had fed before or the scent would have stolen her focus away from the paper and, with the sensation of her brain being wrapped by a spider web that didn’t allow her to think, that was the last thing she needed at the moment.

Luckily, the smell of his cologne was the one around. Along with her own, but she ignored the latter. She had sprayed enough to feel refreshed after the shower. He had picked up on it, but it wouldn’t be on her mind. No, her mind was to focus on the theory about alternate realities people around the world had managed to access. Even if it felt like an impossible task right now.

Agatha swallowed, stared at her pencil as if it could give her answers.

She refused to turn around and ask 500-year-old behind her, the price for knowledge was one she was willing to pay, but she doubted he’d have heard of a story coming from Brazil about people with huge pupils and a darkened sky. She’d leave him be where he was, laying on the couch, occasionally making noises to draw her attention. It was like having a cat in the house, just needier.

The former nun cleared her throat, got her mind out of felines and vampires, and faced the papers.

Alternate realities. How could one access it? Which creatures lived there? Did they had the strength of vampires? Were there werewolves? What happened to humans? What did they feed off? Food? Blood? 

She was glad she had fed.

Agatha crossed her legs under the table.

How did these species interact with each other? What had happened to their sky? What time was it? Afternoon, she had been here for days, working on this project. About that time, one of the sisters would come along and offer her something to eat, ask if she’d join the prayers of the day. Her husband offered her sustenance but refrained from mentioning any prayers to any sort of god, he settled for being the god of his house and having her as the goddess of his pantheon. One hundred and twenty-three years and she hadn’t managed to get him off her.

Her feet slammed at the ground, earning a frown from him and a huff from herself.

No time to be distracted.  _ Alternate realities. _

Alternate realities could be born out of anything, a small shift on a timeline could create an alternate reality. Would things have been the same if she never met Jonathan Harker? No. That was a good example of an alternate reality. What would have happened if Jonathan Harker had been willing to be the Count’s bride? Would there have been vampire spawn? Was that something possible for vampires? To her knowledge, vampires didn’t reproduce through traditional means. At least, she didn’t think she was pregnant. That would certainly be a possibility given how often her husband would come to her and--

Agatha clicked her tongue, shook her head.

The last thing she needed now was to wander about their sex life. The most active sex life she had had in the last one hundred and twenty-three years, and that she had been ignoring for the past days. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but it had been indeed too long. When was the last time they had sex?

_ Agatha Van Helsing, you have work to do! _

“You could take a break, you know,” he commented, she could feel his gaze burning on her.

Licked her lips when she realized she had been biting them. She lowered her eyes to the papers and stared at the title.

It wouldn’t do to pay attention to him, his words, the scent of him. Her focus was already failing her and have him distract her wouldn’t do. Had he any idea of what she had just been wondering she wouldn’t hear the end of it, he would dangle possibilities in front of her as she had played with the bloody knife around him. Under no circumstances was he to even suspect she had been thinking about their last intercourse.

Table. Now, she remembered it, a few days ago, shortly before she took on the project. He had seen her in one of his gifts and decided she looked better out of it, it had been a miracle he hadn’t torn the item apart. He could buy them, so he didn’t mind destroying them, even if she protested. Of course, by the time she protested he already had her too flustered to stop him.

“Are you cold? Should I get your jacket?” his tone was innocent enough. 

She closed her eyes, took a breath. No, she wasn’t cold at all. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Ah, she speaks,” she could hear his grin, refrain from shooting him a glare, “How is it going?”

“Will get better if you keep doing whatever you were doing before,” she replied.

“Waiting?”

“Yes,” she was thankful to how firm she sounded.

_ Papers _ .

She would have to work on the handwriting later. She could read what she had written, but that would become a problem when the text wasn’t so fresh in her mind. It’d take some time, but she’d get through it. She’d just have to give her hands the proper rest, then start working on it. The Count’s handwriting was something annoying on itself, always looking perfectly crafted, she had yet to steal a paper or two of his to find out how he kept the aesthetic. Perhaps something on the way he grabbed the pen, she knew ballpoint pens weren’t his favorites, yet he made it work, those hands of his working magic on the paper. Might have something to do with education, perhaps how the pen sat between his fingers. He did have talented hands, a gentleman of his birth probably should have, but to keep this going after centuries and the loss of the proper pens was quite a wonder. 

Her handwriting wasn’t bad at all, but she didn’t have his hands, the precision of them, how the moved over the paper and wrote everything as if it was poetry as if he hadn’t been writing a check but rather sliding his fingers over a lover’s flesh, making his way to cover her breast and--

She cleared her throat, heard him sneer. She shot him a glare, his smirk widened.

“Am I bothering you?” the question went ignored as she took in the sight of him. 

When had he taken off his shirt? Had it been after feeding? She knew he could be a messy eater, but taking off his shirt seemed a tad--

“See anything you like?” he prompted a second time, making her met his eyes.

“You ask me if I’m cold while laying half-naked on the sofa?” she frowned.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he observed.

Agatha was suddenly very aware of her blouse against her body, how and where it touched her flesh. She swallowed, faced her work again, unwilling to go any further on the conversation that would lead somewhere she was too busy to go.

Warmth surrounded her from behind, a breath made her hair shake, “Was it not the temperature?” he questioned.

“I said I’m fine,” she replied.

He leaned closer, chin brushing her head, “Interesting subject?” he set a hand on the desk, the sight shouldn’t have stolen the amount of attention it did.

“Interesting enough,” she shot, eyes closed tight.

“I should leave you alone then,” he said.

“That would help, yes.”

“Would, wouldn’t it?” he pulled her hair away from her neck, kissed her shoulder, “Alright, I’ll leave you to it,” a kiss at her neck, it lasted longer than necessary, his tongue playing at her flesh before he pulled away, cold air making her shiver.

She heard every step he took, every little sound the sofa made when he laid back down.

Agatha didn’t dare to look down, she knew what she’d find. She crossed her legs tight. She cleared her throat and picked up her pencil.

Metal made a sound, it had her raising her eyebrows. A belt, a belt being undone, slipping out of the rings and, finally being thrown to the floor.

“What are you doing?” she asked, hands closing to fists before she turned to him, found him undoing his pants.

“Getting comfortable, of course,” he said, “You seem busy, it’d seem I’ll be sleeping here more.”

“You don’t have to,” she replied, “You can go to bed.”

“I’d rather stay, if I’m to do nothing, at least, I can be here in case you need me,” he said.

Agatha made a face, narrowed her eyes at him, “Why would I need you?”

“Perhaps you need me to pick up a book for you.”

“I can do that.”

“Merely an example, I’m here to fulfill any needs and desires you have,” he stood up.

“And if I want you to leave?”

“Now that would be unhelpful,” Dracula let his pants fall, he smirked when she kept her eyes on his. Grabbed his clothes from the floor, “I’ll get these out of here”

She watched him go, uncrossed and crossed her legs again. Gulped and spun back, huffed. Made a new attempt at composing something.

Steps returning. Back of her head, fingers between strands of her dark hair, he brushed it with his hands, caressed her scalp. She closed her eyes, her shoulders trembled before sinking.

“Hard, is it?” he let a single digit strike the back of her neck, took one of her hands, kissed the back of it, “Aren’t you tired?” His breath warmed her neck and shoulder, his nail reached under her blouse, tugged the material away, savored her flesh, teeth scraping.

“Perfectly fine,” she insisted.

He cupped her breast over her blouse, his fingers teased her hard nipple, “Are you sure about that? You looked like you could use a distraction.”

“I don’t need one,” her voice came out stronger than she expected it.

His hands were gone, she silenced a whimper before it escaped her. Heard him sink on the sofa.

The Count became quiet. 

She shifted on her seat, exhaled through her mouth, straightened her back, uncrossed her legs, but pressed her thighs together, the dull ache between them something she’d have to find out to forget. 

How dare him touch her like that? She’d work and she wouldn’t think of him, laying there with only his underwear on, under the ridiculous pretense of comfort. Hadn’t he been comfortable the past days sleeping in whatever he was wearing before? She wouldn’t give in to him. No throbbing or alertness should drive her away from her project. She had endured temptations before and she’d do so again. It had been some time, but it was all a matter of getting back to the right mindset.

No thinking about his hands on her neck, his mouth on her shoulder, or how he dared fondle her without any warning. How he went straight to the right spot as if he knew just what to do to make her wet.

There would be time for it later, after work, after she was done. Then she could waste time wondering when did he learn her body so well, how come he could fight her control with words and light caresses. They had been together for a while, yes, and they weren’t exactly shy while having intercourse, but he shouldn’t be able to do that. She shouldn’t want to turn around and see if he was hard for her, shouldn’t be having to grab at the chair not to curse him or just get her clothes out of the way and ride him until her legs couldn’t take it anymore. Would the sofa be able to take two vampires fucking?

She licked her lips, pressed them together. She really shouldn’t be thinking about his cock in her mouth, it shouldn’t be making her mouth water.

A quiet noise came, Agatha glanced over at him.

He watched her, his pupils were dilated, she saw him inhale deeply. When he opened his eyes they went to hers. “You could just come over and sit in my face, I absolutely wouldn’t mind getting more than a sniff of your--”

She was on his lap the next second.

The Count rid her of her blouse, let her struggle to get out of the skirt, while he palmed one of her breasts, scraped her other one with his teeth before fulling taking it into his mouth.

She moaned, arched against him, felt his hand keep her close as his tongue played her body to his every whim. He chuckled, tugged at her hair, kissed his way up her throat, finally tasted her mouth.

Dracula tugged the skirt away from her hips, yanked her panties down with it, and threw them aside, “Much better,” he growled between kisses. Hasty fingers invaded her, made Agatha hiss against his mouth as he explored every inch of evidence of her yearning. He pumped inside her, her arousal dampening his hand. He took them away, making her protest, then broke the kiss to examine what he had done to her.

Glistening fluid coated his fingers, he took one into his mouth, held her gaze as his tongue licked it clean, the decadent sight had her gulping.

“Open your mouth for me,” she did, let his digits play at her lips before sucking on it, earned herself a growl from him, “You put on a good façade, but your body is begging me to fuck you,” he took his hand away, “Enough of that tongue of yours, or I’ll want to put something else in your mouth, and that’s not the point right now.”

He grabbed at her buttocks, pressed her form against him, and stood, forcing her to wrap around him.

“Isn’t the sofa strong enough for both of us?” she questioned.

He tightened his grip on her as he walked, nails close to breaking the skin. “You may be in a hurry, but I’ve been waiting for days. I will take what I want, how I want it, Agatha.”

Dracula carried her to their bedroom, dropped her on the mattress before getting rid of his underwear and crawling towards her, gaze devouring her.

“All those days,” he whispered brushing their lips, “I shouldn’t even allow you to come.”

“That’s not up to you,” she hissed back, felt him shift, find his place between her legs.

“Isn’t it?” he challenged, “You think I can’t drive you to the edge and not give you anything?”

“Do it, I’ll finish it for you,” she said.

“No,” he pulled her hips closer to his, the tip of him teasing at her entrance, “I won’t have that. I could tie you up, keep you trapped here.”

“I’m as strong as you are, you know I can escape.”

The Count let his thumb tease her breast, watched her arch beneath him, “But you want to come, not only that, you want me to take your pleasure from me.”

“I’ll take care of it myself, if necessary,” she replied.

“It won’t be,” he moved, sank into her core with a grunt, making her moan, “Much better,” he kissed her, set a punishing rhythm on his thrusts.

Her hands reached for his back, then for his sides, nails teasing at his flesh. Her touch wandered to his chest, “Not quite”

His back hit the mattress and he saw her straddle him, her hands going for his chest after she guided his cock back into her. He caught her hips when she moved the first time, panted when she repeated the action, and opted for a faster pace.

Agatha Van Helsing was bouncing on him, riding him as one would a wild horse. He could feel every inch of her burning around him, close but not close enough. A gorgeous sight she made, taking control over him as she did with everything in her life.

“You were right, I did want to take it from you,” she grinned, slowing a bit, “just doing it my way instead.”

Dracula sat up, kissed her hard, forced her hips to a halt, ran his hand over her back, holding at her shoulder. He moved beneath her, strong thrusts shaking her body. A growl rose from his chest and he shifted them, tackled her to the mattress, made her turn, and held her down when she tried to fight him. Then he caught her on her knees, “Come here,” he hissed, pulling her to him, plunging inside her, the position hitting a spot that made her cry out, he grinned nuzzled her back, kissed her flesh before stroking hard into her.

Agatha groaned with each thrust, the sound of their bodies slapping together all around her, her hands clenched into fists around the sheets, she bit her lips down hard. She hissed a curse.

“Lovely stunt of yours that one,” he said, “unfortunately, for you, dear, I require some compensation.”

“Go to hell.”

He grinned, “Not just yet.”

The Count didn’t fight her when her hips started meeting his thrusts, changing the tempo and earning snarls from both of them.

Fabric ripped somewhere and the Countess cried out, her form tensing before releasing, her walls clenching around him, making him growl and tighten his grip on her hip.

He slowed down through the pulsation of her core, snarled when she yet again moved against him, she took each stroke with a mewl.

Agatha made a point to clench tight around him as he spilled inside her, “Don’t move,” she hissed low.

For once, he complied.

When she finally let him pull out they collapsed against each other. He caressed her back, breath still heaving.

She rose her head, “That’s it. I have it.”

He trapped her before she could rush off, “It can wait.”

“Count Dracula, I-- One paragraph, that’s all I need. You may go fetch me if I take too long.”

He sighed, let her rush off back to her papers, fell asleep not long after, could almost hear her scribbling.

  
  


The Count arched, he felt a hand press him back down on the bed. He opened his eyes and found Agatha with her trailing kisses down his belly. When she met her gaze, she moved lower, “Good morning,” she said, “I’ve just finished it. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, there’s something I’ve been meaning to do,” she took his cock into her mouth.

Dracula offered no protests.


End file.
